


Playing His Game

by xStormyNightsx



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Arkham Asylum, Batsexual, Dark, Insanity, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Content, Slash, Undercover, Violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xStormyNightsx/pseuds/xStormyNightsx
Summary: Bruce had been undercover before, but his intentions had never been so desperate. With Gothams survival hanging on a thread, the detective finds himself undercover as an Arkham patient, hoping to get close to the Joker, hoping to get the answers he needs. But as the Jokers bat obsession worsens, the detective finds himself an unwilling playmate in a new, twisted game.All he wanted to do was save Gotham, it wasn`t asking for much.These goddamn lunatics were going to be the end of him.(A dark, one-sided Joker x Batman)





	1. Welcome to Arkham

**Author's Note:**

> Happy super hero month!  
> Huge batman fan and this is way over-due.  
> Anyways, I do not know how comfortable I am with M x M, and though things will never get too far (because let`s be honest, Bats would never have consensual sex with the Joker), they`ll get far enough. This is all experimental, but hey, I`m up for trying new things!  
> Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne never felt more at home than the moment he entered Arkham. A part of him, a submissive, hidden part of him took comfort in the Asylum, a part of him knew he belonged here. But the other more dominant part of him kept everything level, everything meticulous as he focused on his goal. He wasn`t here to confront his mental stability. No, his reasons here were far darker, far more complicated.

“Here we are Mister...,” the woman came to a pause in front of the room, her eyes on her clipboard as she flipped through it a few times before coming to a pause. “Mister Danvers.”

Bruce managed a wry smile. Not the charming grins the billionaire was known for, but instead a more immature, toothy grin that showed off his newly placed teeth. He had Lucius pick them out for him, much as he had allowed Lucius to pick out most of his disguise. Erik Danvers, a completely new alias for the vigilante. Unlike his other alter egos, Erik wasn`t the brutal Crusader that was the Dark Knight, nor was he the lowly mobster that was Matches Malone. Erik was completely new, designed solely to infiltrate Arkham.

A nut-job with a passion for blowing stuff up. Not the most original idea, but Bruce was short on time. Jokers bomb would be going off any day now, and he only had so much time to figure out how to get his hands on it. This was a last-ditch effort anyways, he was still hoping any moment now Alfred would contact him. Telling him that Dick or Tim already found it, that it had already been defused, that he could return to normality. Well, whatever normality was to him.

Arkham always had a bad effect on him, taunting him with its endless halls, mocking him with its plain rooms. Sometimes Bruce would wonder if he truly belonged here, tied up to a bed just like the other inmates. He had heard it all before as Batman, how thugs would call him batshit crazy. As of late, he was wondering how much truth that statement held.

“Alright Mr. Danvers,” the nurse held the metal door open for him, her tired eyes gesturing for him to get in. “Group sessions are at twelve, lunch is in the mess hall at three. Someone will come get you when its time. You need to behave yourself, or else you`ll get yourself a one way ticket to permanent isolation, and we wouldn`t want that, would we?” she stopped speaking for a moment, waiting for him to reply. After a moment of thought, Bruce replied with a yes ma`am. The woman smiled at that, returning her attention to her clipboard.  “Let`s see, you can start by getting changed. Lights out at 9pm sharp… you know Mr. Danvers, I`ve seen a bunch of crackpots come and go in my time `ere. I`ve seen all the monsters Gothams got to offer, and let me tell you somethin`, you ain`t one of `em. Compared to the psychos in `ere, you`re pretty tame. A decent guy with some mental issues, that`s no problem, no problem at all. Arkham was built to help people like you, not harbor them monsters the Bat don`t got the guts to kill.”

Bruce didn`t say anything, training his green contact lens on the bed ahead of him. The cell was relatively small, but then again it would be compared to the lavish rooms he was used to sleeping in. On the rare occasions that he chose to sleep that was.  Still, there was a sense of homeliness to it. With the long, white bed that covered about half the space, brown belts hanging from the sides, probably in place to strap down the more active inmates. There was a small desk and chair, mostly empty spare a few scraps of paper. A small toilet, sink, and mirror sat neatly in the other corner, crowding the already tiny space. It wasn`t ideal, but it was what Bruce expected. He`d get used to it after a bit of time, though personally, he was hoping to cut this little visit short.

“So, try and behave, you`ll do just fine Mr. Danvers.” The nurse smiled now, placing a soft hand over Bruce`s chest. She was clearly taking an interest to him judging by the way she smiled, the way she touched him, the way her cheeks gave away the tiniest hint of nervousness. “So, any questions before I leave you to it?”

“The other inmates…” Bruce was a little careful as he spoke, trying to fake a bit of an accent. “Will I get to see them?”

“During group sessions and lunch, yeah.” She nodded before frowning, “Be careful who you get all chummy with though, some of `em are complete loons. Take that Nigma fellow for example, complete creep, always askin` me these damn riddles. Then there`s that twoface guy, can`t even look at him without breakin` a sweat. Oh, and don`t get me started on the clown. Most of us try to keep away from him. God have mercy on the poor soul that has to tend to that psycho.”

Bruce tried to act all aloof, shrugging casually as he slumped down onto the bed. The nurse smiled one last time at him before mumbling a casual farewell and leaving. The door closed with a soft thud before the grating of metal locks made their way into Bruce`s head.

Alas, he had done it, he had successfully gotten himself locked up in Arkham. For a moment the man just sat there, contemplating and thinking before realizing just how uncomfortable his disguise was making him. After carefully listening for any visitors, Bruce made his way to the mirror, looking up at a man he couldn`t recognize. Slowly he opened the tap, splashing a strange grayish-brown water over his face. It didn`t feel at all clean, but what alternative was there?

Slowly, the man removed his contact lens, blinking his naturally blue eyes a few times. Next, he removed the fake teeth, allowing his jaw a moment to accustom to its usual self. That was truly all he could do; the rest would have to come off some other time. His hair and eyebrows had been dyed a light brownish-blonde colour. He had also allowed his facial hair to grow a bit, giving himself a decent stubble that Bruce Wayne would never permit. Though the changes weren`t too drastic, all the new features allowed him to fool most people. Even Alfred had trouble recognizing him before he left for Arkham.

Now then, onto the plan.

Joker had planted a bomb. No big deal, Bruce was used to the clown's utter love for explosives. This time, however, he couldn`t find it, all of his gadgets, all of his tricks, all of them useless. Not only was the bomb able to take out Gotham, but according to the Joker, it would wipe out the entire eastern seaboard. So, Bruce decided to let his alter ego take it from there, allowing the Batman to interrogate the Joker as brutally as possible before apprehending him. It appeared the Joker himself had no idea where the bomb was, personally leaving that information with Harley.

The next step was naturally to track down Harley, something Dick had managed without issue. Unfortunately, it turned out she had left Gotham, taking the information with her. All Bruce knew was that she had a plan, a failsafe to break out the Joker. That was when his own plan came into action. Bruce would infiltrate Arkham, get into the Jokers inner circle, and when Harley came to bust them out, he would let her lead him straight to the bomb.

Of course, the plan wasn`t too well-received by Nightwing, or Robin, or even Alfred for that matter.  But it didn`t matter, their concern -despite how comforting- didn`t matter. All that mattered was Gotham`s safety, and Bruce was more than willing to put his body, soul and sanity on the line.

“Hey Danvers!” there was a harsh knock on the door followed by a gruff voice. Bruce acted quickly, trying to stay silent as he accidentally poked his eye when rushing to put the contacts back on. He wasn`t sure why he didn`t hear the guard coming, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. The detective quickly turned around just as the guard opened the door, his tall frame taking up most of the doorway.

“Lunch. Now. Get in there newbie.” The man chuckled his thumb behind his back, and Bruce quickly obliged. He wasn`t sure if he should look relaxed or moody, so the billionaire settled for his usual neutral expression. He probably should have taken more time to flesh out Erik`s personality and quirks, but as mentioned before, time was short.

The guard had placed a meaty hand on Bruce`s shoulder, tugging him along rather forcefully down the white halls. Bruce wondered if he should rebel but decided against it as the guard roughly shoved him along a blue, barred room. Behind the bars he could see a large, cafeteria-like room, filled to the brim with thugs and criminals he unfortunately recognized. For a moment, he wondered if he could take them all if things went south. Hopefully, he wouldn`t have to find out. The guard came to a pause as two other guards slid open the barred gate, nodding as the first guard pushed him in before the gates closed.

Bruce slyly looked over his shoulder, noting the best way to escape if the need arose. He knew for a fact that he couldn`t escape from the inside, after all, it was the Batman himself who had designed the bars especially to keep inmates in. However, if the guards were to come in, he could take that opportunity to prop the door open or slip by quickly. Hopefully it wouldn`t come to that though, hopefully he could stay in one piece `till Harley showed up.

Now back in character, Bruce turned his attention to the line in front of him. A series of gruff thugs- some he recognized, some he didn`t- stood in a line before him, all of their eyes on the lunch lady ahead. Bruce had a brief flashback to his days in Gotham`s elite prep school before brushing off the memories and taking a few steps forward. He picked up a tray from the nearest stack, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he walked by the stands, accepting anything that looked mildly appetizing.

Finally, he found himself at the other end with a tray full of _hopefully_ edible food. Now all he needed was a seat, and rather meticulously, the detective scanned the room. The Joker was nowhere in sight, unfortunate since his plan solely depended on the clown. He`d have to keep busy with something else until the clown showed up. After a moments thought his eyes landed on Scarecrow. According to the Arkham files he had hacked to prep for the mission, he knew that Dr. Crane and the Joker had a bit of a relationship. He wouldn`t call them friends though, perhaps acquaintances.

The good doctor was sitting by himself, not that that surprised Bruce. He didn`t expect Crane to have many friends considering his unfavorable reputation. Still, that made walking down the room and joining him at his table all the easier.

Crane glared up at him, dark eyes finding their way into his soul, much as they always did. The doctor had a habit of hooking into you, striking you with a sense of dread. Bruce usually found his alter egos cowl did well at protecting him from Cranes innate aura. But now, without the cowl, Bruce felt more vulnerable as he sat across one of his greatest adversaries.

“They call you the Scarecrow out there.” Bruce began to speak, noticing that his fake accent was completely gone, replaced with something more natural.

“They call me worse things in here.” Dr. Crane continued to glare, his expression as dreary and menacing as his tone. “Be very careful. You assume I`m helpless without my mask and toxins. Do not make that mistake.”

“I don`t make mistakes.” Bruce replied, one again forgetting to disguise his voice. It was just instinctive to talk to Crane the way he always did, with enough seriousness and grittiness to convey his determination. Bruce was quite literally fighting the urge to use his _Batman voice._ “I`m a fan of your work.” Bruce continued, managing a serious smile. “I admire Gotham`s finest, I was hoping to meet you. I`m an eager fan of the Joker, do you know where I could find him?”

“Seeking out the Joker?” the doctor gave a half-hearted chuckle. “You are quite foolish. The last brat that sucked up to him disappeared. They found him a month later. In the vents. In pieces.”

“Do you know where he is?” Bruce simply repeated his earlier question, completely unfazed by Cranes story.

The doctor only looked at him, his glare softening to a more amused expression as he looked the man before him up and down.

“Do you not fear death?” Crane leaned in a little, his dark eyes boring into Bruce`s green contacts.

The detective didn`t reply.

“What do you fear then?” Crane persisted regardless.

“Nothing.” Bruce answered casually, still waiting for the answer he wanted.

“Ah, you should fear something.” Crane chuckled again, “You will. Soon. Arkham does that to a person. It takes a relatively insane soul and breaks them down to the fundamentals. Arkham brings out the monsters in us all. You think you`re in this Asylum because you`re insane? Oh, you have no idea. You have no idea what this place will do to you.”

Bruce took a moment to process those words, dismissing it as the rantings of a mentally unstable criminal.

“Are you going to answer my question?” Bruce finally asked, noting the way Crane smiled a loose smile.

“I like you.” Crane stated before answering, “Joker skips lunch often. None of the guards have the audacity to force him into anything. Most of his time is spent in his room, plotting and scheming I suppose. Not that I know what that clown is up to half the time. His philosophies make good conversation but I do not consider us friends… Speaking of which, I would be careful approaching him. He is unpredictable, may talk one way but act completely different. He may manipulate you, lead you on only to stab you in the back. In this case, fear can guide you well if you allow it too.”

Bruce said nothing to that. He wasn`t scared of the Joker, if anything he would feel surprisingly calm in the clown’s presence. He had a feeling that no one knew the clown as well as the Batman did, he had a feeling that the Jokers unpredictability was a meticulous science in the Batman’s eyes.

This would be a piece of cake, all he had to do was find the Joker and get on his good side. That shouldn`t be too hard, he knew for a fact that the clown as already obsessed with his alter ego, catching his attention again shouldn`t be too hard. Besides, if things go south, Bruce knew he could handle himself.

The detective most certainly wasn`t afraid. Not of Scarecrow, not of Joker, and especially not of Arkham.


	2. Sparks

Bruce Wayne was a light sleeper.

And so, trying to fall asleep to the screams of the insane was impossible. It was like a strange, connected system. Communication of sorts. First, a heavy, gruff scream would rattle the cells, delirious and wild. Then, a shrill, high-pitched shriek would respond, crazed and giggly. Throw in a few screams of agony, confusion, sorrow, and joy, and you`d have a regular night at Arkham.

So, unable to sleep, the man began to examine the cell more closely, testing the grates, checking the walls, nudging the door. Nothing seemed to give. How the hell did the Arkhamites always manage to get loose?

He did some push-ups next, sit ups too, anything to keep himself productive and busy. Finally, after an hour or so, he felt his mind adapt to the constant screaming. It felt like white noise, and he was honestly far too tired to stay conscious. Relieved, he dropped down on the hard bed, turning and closing his eyes, peace at last.

The cell door opened.

“Session time Mr. Danvers!” the same nurse from before stood at the door, a guard by her side as she beckoned him forward.

Bruce felt bitterly exhausted as he got back onto his feet, but that didn`t matter, he could work through the exhaustion, he always did.

“Sessions?” he asked, forcing a little youthful gruffness into his voice, just to mask it a little.

“Group sessions,” she nodded as the guard closed the door behind them. The woman began to lead the way, the guard directly behind Bruce as he obediently followed. “We try to keep the really dangerous inmates separate from you regular folk, but what can I say, we`re packed.” Then, on a more sarcastic, annoyed note, she added, “Thanks to the Bat.”

Bruce grimaced as he entered the dimly-lit, gray walled room. It looked like an interrogation room with a large stainless-steel table, and plastic chairs surrounding it.

“Take a seat Mr. Danvers,” the woman told him before turning and leaving, the guard following suit.

Bruce examined the people in the room as he took the one of the only empty seats around the table. He could still hear the screaming in the background, muffled if only slightly. An aged, dark-skinned man sat at the very front of the table, a lab coat hanging from his shoulders and a clipboard in hand. He had a tired but warm smile, his nametag reading Dr. Warren.

Looking around the rest of the table, Bruce recognized everyone. There were very few criminals the Batman didn`t know, whether it was a lowly mugger like Jason Clay, or a fidgety sociopath like Edward Nigma- who sat far too close for comfort. 

Dr. Warren glanced at his watch as Nigma glanced at Bruce, an amused glare of sorts.

No one spoke a word, and Bruce followed their example, glancing around the room casually, curiously until his ears picked up the discreet sound of footsteps. As the footsteps approached, so did the chatter, occasional chuckles, high-pitched discussion.

As The Joker was brought into the room, a thick tension filled the atmosphere, and everyone became unusually tense. Bruce took note of the effect he had on all these people, despite his constant smiles and laughter- the clown was terrifying, and these inmates, even in their insanity, knew it. However, Bruce had to fake his fear, had to fake his nervousness simply to blend into the crowd. In truth, the only emotion he felt when he looked at The Joker was regret and frustration.

Two guards, tall and bulky, stood by the clown’s side at all times, they escorted him into his chair and simply hovered around him. He was the only inmate that still wore chains around his wrist, restricting his movement if only a little. The clown placed his hands on the table, clasping them professionally as he glanced about the room, smiling welcomingly, as if he owned the place. He looked rather beat-up, his hair had grown a bit, brown roots peeked from under his tousled, green mane. He looked rumpled and skinnier too, dark bags under his still-wild green eyes.

“Now that we`re all here,” Dr. Warren finally spoke, “let`s begin. Mario, let`s start with you. Are the voices- I mean, Fred- still taunting you?”

Mario Austero, a chubby man with a lazy, pudgy face opened his mouth to answer. But Bruce was too occupied with the staring The Joker was doing. The Dark Knight watched from the corner of his eyes, pretending he wasn`t aware of the clown`s gaze. The clown, only tilted his head, his smile growing by the second, wider and wider until he broke out into laughter, cutting Mario off.

“Please don`t interrupt,” Dr. Warren ordered rather calmly. “We`re giving you another chance here, if you disturb the session, Cleve will have to escort you back into solitary.”

“Come on `doc, can`t punish a man for laughin`.” The Joker, despite his tired exterior, still had the same, chilling voice that Bruce remembered. “`Sides, I`ve got something to say.”

“You`ll have to wait your turn,” Warren raised his hand for silence.

The Joker made an ugly face, his strangely elegant features scrunching up into a bitter scowl.

Mario began his monologue again, this time with clear nervousness in his tone, very aware of The Jokers impatient glare.

“That`s too bad,” Nigma whispered, “I quite liked Dr. Warren.”

Bruce tried not to think of what that implied.

An hour later, as Bruce entered the cafetorium for breakfast, he found the Joker seated at a table, all by himself with no food in sight. The clown`s green eyes instantly latched into Bruce`s brown contacts. He watched as The Joker, lifted a finger, curling it to beckon him forward.

Well, now or never.

Ignoring the breakfast queue, Bruce went straight to the table, managing a cheeky, non-batman-ish smile as he sat across from his most heated rival.

“I hear you`re a fan!” The Joker announced.

“Y-yeah,” Bruce faked a bit of a stutter, pretending to be awe-struck. “Huge fan, sir. Name`s Erik Danvers.”

“Boooring!” Joker drawled, before humming thoughtfully to himself, glancing into the distance before erratically straightening up. “Sparks! That`s what we`ll call you. You look like a Sparks y`know. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No, sir,” Bruce forced a smile.

“What`s with the sir? No need to be dull, Sparks. Oh, do I hate dull. When I think Sparks, I think exciting, impulsive, just waiting to explode.”

Bruce said nothing, there really wasn`t much he could say.

“I`m not really the picky type,” Joker continued. “Oh, wait, actually I am. Just want things to be perfect, `specially when it comes to my crew. You understand that, don`t you, Sparks, old buddy, ole pal? Of course, you do! Well, you`ve got an aura to you, gets me all tingly and erratic, I`m lovin` it, I really am, believe me! But a poor, little clown like me has gotta keep on his toes, who knows who`s gunnin` for lil` ole` me. Can`t waste my precious time on every wannabe. So here`s your shot kid, make your old Joker proud, `kay?”

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows.

“That looks like a `kay to me,” the Joker had a large, lopsided grin on his face as he rose to his feet. “Hey Butch!” he suddenly yelled, standing on the table now.

A large, monster of a man turned from his table, a child-like look on his face as he innocently peered up at the clown.

“Sparks `ere just called you stupid,” Joker stated bluntly, gesturing at the seated Bruce.

“I`m not stupid!” the man yelled back, his voice too was childish, the words slurring, deep hurt rooted in his tone.

“Oh wait,” the Joker took on a thoughtful expression, coming to sit down on the table now, one leg over the other as he pondered a thought. “My bad, my bad, he called your mama stupid, not you.”

The large, babyish man stood up in a rage, flipping the very table over and sending his fellow inmates ducking for cover.

“No one hurts mama!” the man shrieked, his large fists tightening as he charged at Bruce.

It was pure instinct that allowed Bruce to react so quickly, his body moving away from the table and onto the floor. Butch crashed into the table before recovering, screaming and turning to Bruce with new hate. He charged again, but this time Bruce ducked, his reflexes taking complete control as he tripped Butch mid-charge sending him sprawling onto the floor.

The Joker applauded from the gathering crowd, whistling some encouragements.

The guard on watch attempted to strike Butch with a baton, but the monster-man just screamed and threw the guard at Bruce. Instead of dodging, Bruce allowed the guard to crash into him, lessening the impact of the guards fall before putting him down and moving into some open space. The chanting inmates had formed a circle around Butch and Bruce, screaming threats and suggestions.

Bruce began to back up, biding his time when an inmate pushed him forward and straight into Butch`s waiting arms. The brute of a man locked his arms around Bruce, squeezing him to the point where he could feel his ribs craning. It was at times like this when he missed his Batman armor.

Bruce sucked in some air before pulling his head back and slamming it against Butch`s forehead with surprising force. The large man screamed, dropping his victim so he could cradle his head.

A dozen options ran through Bruce`s head, his most natural response would be to jump up and knee the man in the face, with enough force to knock him out of course. But doing that felt far too _Batman,_ and he didn`t want to arouse suspicion. So, instead, Bruce did the more casual thing, grabbing a metal tray off a table and slamming it into Butch`s face. A loud clang rang through the halls as Butch fell to the ground, his mouth hanging agape as he drooled on the floor.

“Bravo!” just like that, the Joker was back at his side, chuckling with genuine glee. “I think I just fell in love. You`re a seasoned one, ain`t ya? I love the experienced ones! There always so much more fun, and so useful too! We`re gonna have a great time Sparks, or should I say, a blast. We`re gonna have a blast! Man, I crack myself up sometimes.”

The rest of the guards were beginning to file in now, their tasers blazing.

“Speaking of sparks…” the Joker hummed to himself, “Seems like the show is over. Such a shame, these guards don`t have any appreciation for real entertainment. You on the other hand, oh, this is gonna be so fun! Sleep with one eye open, Uncle J will be seeing you soon.” And just like that, with a low, echoing chuckle, the Joker disappeared into the rioting crowd.

Bruce, on the other hand, grimaced at the thought of having to stay up two nights in a row. Well, it wouldn`t be the first time. The only down side was he`d usually have three or four cups of coffee a day to keep him on the Batman schedule. Turns out coffee isn`t an option in Arkham. Well, at least the Asylum would treat his caffeine dependency if anything.


	3. Small Mercies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely will finish this.  
> Ended up replaying the Arkham games, hence the inspiration to continue.  
> Enjoy! :D

Bruce sat idly on the stale, cold, and uncomfortably hard mattress,

He was staring at the currently sealed, dark, metal door. The one that separated him from the rest of the asylum, a flimsy little barrier, insane chaos on one end, painful quiet on the other. He wanted to sleep, his eyes strained with the effort to remain open, his fingers dug into the hard mattress, almost tearing into it with strength that could occasionally go ungoverned. Batman was used to this, the heavy, drug-like sensation of sleep weighing him down.

But he never gave into it.

It would usually be easier. There would often be some angry, cocky thug charging at him, threatening to bury him in the dust- usually that would be enough to keep him up. Sometimes it be taken up a notch, he`d be dodging bullets, performing rather intriguing acrobatics to evade one opponent and then another- you can`t sleep when one wrong move would result in death.

The excitement, the thrill, the sheer adrenaline: that would keep him awake.

And if that failed, he`d turn to caffeine.

But this was different, this was strange. Bruce stared idly at the dark, unmoving door, observing the way it taunted him rather mockingly. The environment was quiet, there was no gunfire to be found, no incoherent assailant screaming obscenities at him. Could you blame him for finding himself falling asleep?

He buried his head in his hands, his fingers pressing tightly against his jaw, rubbing harshly into his eyelids. Sleep wasn’t an option. Bruce was on edge, he knew something was coming. Something about Jokers threat had him on alert. He watched the door like an enemy, expecting it to blow off its hinges, slamming into him, knocking him off his feet.  
And just like that the chaos would start.

Oh, how he wanted it to start, to finally be in his element.

Bruce dropped his head again, his shoulders rolling back as he sat hunched on the mattress. He scratched absentmindedly at the beard he had begun to sport. Tormented, sleep-deprived eyes continued to glare at the door, instincts beginning to thrum, ears beginning to perk up. His breathing had silenced itself, his entire being focused on the threatening, villainous door.

It opened.

Bruce was eerily still as the door was pulled back. Standing in the doorframe, smiling at him with that deranged grin was no other than the green haired maniac he was expecting.

“You`ve been waiting for me!” he grinned, striking, white teeth on display as he walked into Bruce`s cell. “Thinking about me too it seems? Careful Sparks, don`t go falling for me now. This `ole clowns spoken for.”

Bruce grimaced.

“How did you get in?” he asked, forcing a little awe into his borderline irritated tone. The fact that the clown could so easily unlock Arkham cells bothered him. This was power the clown should never have. Power the Batman had been sure to keep from him. Only Arkham staff could access cells, the key-code was changed on an hourly basis, only designated staff would ever know.

“Mavis opened it up, such a doll,” he began to strut around the cell, hands clasped behind his back. “Speaking of dolls, there’s a certain puppet I know that's been running his mouth for far too long. Best to cut those strings sooner than later if you know what I mean. A little snip here, a little snip there, marionettes are so 20th century anyways, don't you agree?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Does your puppet have a name?” the sleep-deprived vigilante finally asked, deciding he had to move things along.

“Wouldn`t know, never pay attention,” the Joker hummed to himself. “I just call him Baldy. A classic really. Can never go wrong with that.”

“Dr. Warren,” Bruce mumbled the name.

“There we go! I knew you were a clever one, all tense and brooding, completely bewildered by my charm. Remind me of a certain someone. Fast like him too, strong and smart. But let`s see if you`re as creative? My crew is all about dramatic flair, Sparks. Style points count.”

“What do you want me to do?” Bruce tensed, but he tried to keep his expression rather neutral.

“Why kill the `ole doctor of course. I`d do it myself but where`s the fun in that? Besides, I have a new toy I`m just dying to try out! Psst… you’re the toy.”

Killing someone was out of the question, but the mission still remained. Bruce needed to get into Joker's crew, he needed to be here when Harley broke them out, and most importantly, he needed to find the bomb and save his city. For what felt like the hundredth time too. You`d think by now the Crusader would be tired, another bomb, another Tuesday. Another hostage, another Wednesday. Another missing person, another Thursday. Another mass murder, another Friday. Another arson, another Saturday. Another robbery, another Sunday.

Mondays were okay though, not much ever happened on Mondays. Bruce really wasn’t sure why. Just one of those convenient coincidences he supposed.

“I have a better idea,” Bruce forced a little excitement into his voice. “Let me go teach him a lesson, rough him up a little, make an example out of him.”

“Oh you will!” Joker had hopped onto the bed now, sitting with his legs criss crossed, a gleeful smile playing at his face. “Nothing says ‘example’ like a large, bloody puddle on the cold, asylum floors.”

“I can make a puddle,” Bruce guaranteed.

“A bloody puddle,” Joker corrected before grumpily adding, “A dead puddle too.”

“I really think a living example will-

“Now, now, Sparks. I didn`t know I hired a humanitarian.” Jokers tone still held his staple humor, but it had dropped a threatening octave. “You sure you`re my fan? Sound more like a Bat fanatic to me. I wouldn`t go around playing at the B-man if I were you. He's tense `bout copycats you know. So, let`s keep it real simple, either you kill the good doctor or… well, I`m sure I`ll think of something fun."

And just like that, Joker had lifted onto his feet, flamboyant as ever as he waltzed out of the room. He left the door wide open, and Bruce watched begrudgingly as the clown prince of crime skirted through the halls, whistling a cheery yet unsettling tune all the way until he finally turned the corner.

So, it came down to a simple equation really. Kill Dr. Warren, save the rest of Gotham. Live by the code, watch Gotham crumble. Good thing he was a genius and all.

 

~

 

  
Doctor Warren hated late nights at Arkham, bad things always happened after 3am, but the later you stay, the better the pay. His eyes wandered to the framed photo of Margie kicking her soccer ball. The longer he stayed, the better laptop Margie gets for high school, and God knows she deserved the best. Smiling at the girl in the photo, the Doctor turned back to his computer and continued writing the sessions reports.

Mario’s schizophrenia was beginning to improve, probably due to the medication, but the Doctor would tell himself it was because of his wonderful group therapy sessions. Nigma forced only six riddles into his share-time today as well. It would have been an improvement if he hadn’t punched Jervis Tetch in the face for making rhymes out of said riddles. Then there was the new guy, seemed quiet and reserved, a welcome change from the usual inmates.

But then again, this was Arkham Asylum, he had to be batshit underneath all the calm. Everyone here was. Doctor Wa

rren decided to leave the Danvers report on hold, he’d wait until the inmate got time to talk before making any assumptions. He was a good doctor, a fair one, unlike those lazy interns who’d write up any lie just to get on the payroll.

The doctor was about to start the next paragraph when he felt a small pressure on his neck. One that quickly turned into a heavy weight, one that was suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. The doctor opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a quiet wheezing. He thrashed and squirmed, his elbows finding purchase in someone's chest, but whoever that someone was remained adamant.

In a last ditch effort, the doctor slapped the photograph off his desk, hoping it would shatter loudly, hoping it would get someone’s attention. But another hand shot past the desk, catching the photo mid-air before it could crash.

He couldn't die, not here, not like this. Not when Margie deserved so much better.

  
~

  
Bruce believed in small mercies, and knocking the doctor out was one of them. The vigilante wasn’t particularly fond of hurting innocent people. Not when it could be avoided. But this wasn’t the case, this had to be done. Luckily for Warren, Joker decided to send Bruce to do the deed.

The detective took a moment to tap the device in his ears, taking a breather before turning to the work ahead of him.

“Alfred?”

“ _Doing laundry,_ ” it was Grayson’s boyish voice that responded. “ _Why? Something up?_ ”

“I need a favour,” the man replied in his usual, serious voice, not the far-too-friendly bantering he had assigned to his Danvers persona.

“ _Talk to me Bruce_.”

“I need you to come to Arkham.”

“ _Back-up? You got it. I was thinking Terrence Jones. Or maybe Cliff Jones. Something with Jones for my persona._ ”

“Not that. Nightwing, I need you to pick something up for me.”

The detective grabbed the unconscious Warren around the shoulders, dragging his Jell-O like body to the edge of the desk. 

“I’m going to leave you a package outside the botanical garden building,” Bruce explained as he ran his fingers along the corner of the desk. The wood there was sturdy but sharp enough. It would do.

“ _What type of package?_ ”

“Doctor Maurice Warren, Arkham psychiatrist.”

_“That is so not a package."_

Bruce knelt down, steadily tearing the sleeves off the doctor’s arm. The sleeves would be useful in a moment.

“Get him out of Gotham.”

“ _He in trouble?”_

“More than he knows,” Bruce held the arm over the table, pressing the soft, under-elbow skin to the corner.

“ _I guess you two have that in common.”_

Bruce held the annoyed sigh that was aching to come out of his lips. 

“I have the situation here under control.”

“ _So you keep saying,_ ” Nightwing sounded unconvinced. _“I know you’ve heard it a million times, but be careful. Try as you may you’re just one man.”_

“I’m aware."

_“Right… so, pick up the package, got it. Anything else?”_

“One other thing.”

_“Yeah?”_

In one swift, powerful motion, Bruce dragged the man arm along the corner. It took a little effort, but he had made a laceration large enough to draw sufficient blood. 

“Bring a first aid kit.”

Careful not to spill any of the blood on himself, Bruce gave the man’s arm a firm squeeze, building up a layer of blood on the floor. Just enough to make a noticeable puddle, a shallow one at that too. The second he was done, the detective quickly used the doctor’s sleeve to stop the bleeding, wrapping a tight knot.

That was the easy part. The hard part would be getting him out of the building and to the gardens. The Batman never complains though, never fusses or cuts corners. No, he stays on track, fights through the pain - or in this case sleep depravity - to do what has to be done. But the Batman was alone right now, Bruce was alone without a single other soul to listen in.

And so he let out a tired sigh, a small sign of weakness meant for his ears alone.

 

~

  
Sitting in the group therapy room, this time sided by Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch, Bruce was shaking. It was one of those sleep-depravity shakes, the type that were often followed by a bitter cold and painful headaches. The type of illness that would make a person hear and see things, that would slow down their reflexes and make it impossible to keep their eyes open.

Bruce Wayne, or even the Batman for that matter, could never show such weakness, could never shake or limp around like a ragdoll. 

But luckily Erik Danvers could.

A woman, in her mid thirties with an expression of utter boredom and a demeanor to match came waddling through the room, planting herself down in Doctor Warrens chair. Her name tag read Dr. Lisha.

“So it’s true…” Victor Zsasz drawled out from where he was tied to the chair. “The doctor bit the-

“We will not be discussing Dr. Warren,” the woman stated firmly, rather coldly too for that matter. She cleared her throat, adopting a politer tone before continuing, “I know there are rumors floating around, but that does not concern patients.”

“Rumor has it,” Jonathan Crane whispered as he slowly leaned towards Bruce. He was so close that the detective could smell the strange smokey scent wafting off his body. “Dr. Warren got himself killed.” The proximity bothered the detective, he wanted a little space, he needed it. It unsettled him, being so close to Crane. Probably had to do with the sleepiness though, lack of sleep makes even the best of us grumpy and irritable.

“They assume our friend the Joker is responsible,” Crane continued to whisper while Dr. Lisha began going over new guidelines. “Hence his absence from the session.” It was true, the Joker wasn’t present and it seemed the session had already began. “But you know,” Crane added with a certain hushed, knowingness. “I hear the Joker only gave the order. That someone else is responsible.”

Bruce hummed, faking innocence.

“Someone who beat and bled the good doctor right in his office,” Crane concluded. “I wonder what horrible fate befell the body. They still can’t find it. Perhaps the killer cut it up, buried it, or maybe, burned it?”

Bruce only smiled, a big toothy grin that obviously said you-caught-me-I-totally-killed him. Luckily Crane picked up on the hint, because an equally pleased smile stretched along his aged features. On that note the two of them turned their attention to the new doctor.

“Now that that’s been cleared up, let’s begin the sharing,” Dr. Lisha glanced down at her clipboard. “Erik Danvers, why don’t you start us off today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya like it? Please review <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was a good start.  
> This is all just experimental, but as always, feedback is appreciated!  
> Till next time~


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